


Here's a gift (since we're celebrating)

by waterbird13



Series: Writing our own Vows [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: But mostly fluff, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Samulet, about ten seconds of angst, brief mentions of hell, married Winchesters, schmoopy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have returned from their honeymoon to enjoy married life back home. Sam has a late wedding present for Dean, and he's somewhat nervous about giving it to him. Dean sets out to show him he needn't have worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's a gift (since we're celebrating)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Here's part three of Writing our own Vows. This part took forever to write, but I finally finished it, so I hope you enjoy.  
> Warnings, once more: explicit gay, incestuous married sex, Samulet, schmoop, Kevin and Cas hanging around, domestic fluff, a tiny bit of angst, and, in this segment, Sam bottoms the entire time. That's it.
> 
> Enjoy!

            It turns out that the ability to shoot in the real world does not translate to video games. Kevin had asked for an X-Box, and Sam had bought him one a while back, and the two of them had amassed an impressive collection of games. Today, Kevin had talked Dean into playing. It’s some shooter game, and Dean can’t get the damn gun to aim right.

            Kevin tries to talk him through it a few times, but Dean just isn’t getting it. What he is getting is an itch to go down to the shooting range and shoot holes in the heads of paper targets, just to prove he can.

            It turns out that Kevin has to leave, though, because Kevin has a class at the local community college this afternoon. Sam talked him into doing this, into getting a degree with a combination of online courses and classes at the community college. Maybe it’s not Princeton, but it seems to have cheered Kevin up a bit.

            Dean thinks maybe Sam should do it too, because he knows how much Sam wanted a degree. Sam would have to start over—hard to ask Stanford to transfer the credits of a dead mass murderer to some community college in the middle of nowhere—but he could get a degree. Sam turns it down every time Dean brings it up, says they’re on the road too much for him to be able to commit to classes.

            Kevin drives off in the old clunker Dean bought cheap and fixed up just for this purpose. Cas is still around, somewhere, but Dean hasn’t seen him all day. Cas has gotten into some massive historical archiving project that Sam seems really excited about. As far as Dean understands, Cas is trying to write a book about the entire history of the angels, as far back as Cas knows. It sounds ridiculous to Dean, but Sam insists that it will be an amazing resource that the men of letters will be lucky to have. All Dean knows is that Sam bought Cas a laptop and now the guy doesn’t put it down, and that he occasionally mumbles things like “big plans for that fish.”

            So Cas is down for the count, which leaves just him and Sam, who is probably in the library. Dean grins. It’s only noon and Kevin won’t be home for _hours_. He and Sam haven’t had this kind of time alone in _days_.

            Sam is in the library, crouched over the table with some big ancient book spread in front of him. Sam is jotting notes onto a yellow legal pad, muttering things under his breath as he flips through the pages.

            Dean walks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pressing his nose behind Sam’s ear. “Gonna kill your eyes, you keep reading like that,” he murmurs. “Hm, you’d look hot in glasses.”

            Sam snorts. “Yeah? You think so?”

            “Mm,” Dean moans, thinking about it now. “Yeah, those sexy little ones, with the thin metal frames. They’d look good dripping with my come.”

            “Probably makes them harder to use,” Sam points out.

            Dean smirks. “But so much more fun.”

            Sam shakes his head and closes the book, careful to mark his page. “Something you wanted?”

            “You,” Dean says. “Right here. On this table.”

            Sam moans, but apparently has the willpower to pull himself back. “Dean. We don’t live alone.”

            Dean starts pressing soft kisses along Sam’s throat, up his jaw. “Cas is in his head right now, writing whatever the hell he’s doing. And Kevin just left for school.”

            “Yeah?” Sam asks, shivering as Dean licks behind his ear.

            “Mhm,” Dean replies. “Now, you wanna?”

            Sam stands up and pulls his sweater off, and it’s only then that Dean gets a good look at him, wearing one of those stupid button-down, sweater-vest combinations that makes him look the world’s hottest grad student waiting to be debauched. Dean groans. “I stand by what I said about the glasses,” he says.

            Sam gets the sweater over his head and grins. “If I ever need ‘em, I’ll remember that,” he promises, unbuttoning his shirt. “Now, strip.”

            Dean pulls off his t-shirt and unbuckles his belt, kicking down his jeans as fast as possible. He’s stopped wearing underwear when they don’t plan to go out long ago. It makes things like this easier. The less layers between him and Sam, the happier he is.

            Sam still dresses like it’s a contest to see how many layers he can possibly get on himself, so Dean starts helping him pull them off, unbuttoning Sam’s jeans and pulling them down, along with his underwear.

            He traces the lines of Sam’s abs, the hard hunter’s physique that he hides under the academic’s clothes. Sam tilts Dean’s head up and brings their mouths together in a searing kiss, which Dean takes full advantage of, licking into Sam’s mouth while walking him backwards, pushing him against the table.

            Sam breaks away long enough to push the book and his notes to the side, and while Dean isn’t big on delays right now, it’s cute what an obsessive nerd Sam is. But as soon as the book is safely away, Dean pushes Sam onto the table, and Sam sprawls out, legs hooked over the edge and spread wide, hands above his head.

            Dean grins down at Sam and drops the packet of lube from his jeans pockets on the table next to him. “What d’you want, Sammy?” Dean asks.

            Sam rolls his eyes and pulls his legs up, exposing his hole to Dean. “You started this,” he says. “Now fuck me.”

            Dean steps closer and Sam throws one leg over his shoulder, then rests the foot of his other leg against Dean’s shoulder. Dean tears open the packet of lube and coats his fingers and trails his hand down Sam’s ass. He traces around Sam’s hole. “You’re still open,” he notes as he slides a finger in, quickly seeking Sam’s prostate and, judging by Sam’s yelp, finding it.

            “You—fucking hell, Dean—you fucked me this morning, ‘course I’m still open, _fuck_ ,” Sam moans as Dean slides a second finger in.

            “Shh, Sammy,” Dean admonishes playfully while scissoring his fingers. “Wouldn’t want Cas to hear you and come out to investigate.”

            Sam is writhing on Dean’s fingers now, and his moans haven’t quieted any. “Think he’s heard us— _fuck_ —have sex enough to know not to come down, Dean,” Sam pants.

            Dean grins, because it’s true. While they had a healthy sex life before, being married has spurred them on to a whole new level. It’s been almost a month and it still hasn’t calmed down any. Dean is beginning to think it never will, not even when decades have passed and they’re limited to the most basic positions, popping Viagra to make it happen. He’ll still want Sam just as badly as he does now, he knows that for a fact.

            Dean slides in a third finger and crooks it just right, aiming so he brushes Sam’s prostate at the same time that Dean’s wedding band bumps Sam’s skin. That’s something Dean thought would go away, too, something he thought would end once the immediate thrill of being married—of being able to call each other husbands—wore off. But it still makes Sam twitch and moan, just like it did on their wedding night.

            “Dean,” Sam is whining. “Dean. In me. Now.”

            “Pushy,” Dean murmurs, but he does pull his fingers out and slick his cock with the remaining lube. “Ready, Sammy?” he asks as he lines himself up.

            Sam growls. “In me. Now, or I swear—“

            Dean pushes in, and Sam stops talking, words cut off and replaced with a long, desperate moan.

            “Better?” Dean asks once he’s fully inside Sam. Sam seems to have given up on words, his head thrown back, mouth opened wide, panting and moaning, letting out one long groan as Dean starts thrusting, hard and fast.

            “So good, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “Feel so fucking good, baby.”

            Sam seems to find words again. “Dean,” he moans. “Wanna come.”

            Sam’s hands are still above his head, grabbing his own arms in lieu of sheets or anything else to get a grip on. Dean nods at them, though he doubts Sam sees the gesture. “Get yourself off, then.”

            Sam doesn’t need telling twice, gets a hand on his cock and starts to move it, matching the pace Dean is setting.

            It doesn’t take very long before Sam practically screams, “Dean!” and comes all over his hand and stomach. Sam’s hole tightens around Dean while he comes, and Dean can’t hold out any longer, comes with a shout of his own, filling Sam.

            They both stay there for a moment, attempting to catch their breath before Sam gently pushes at Dean’s shoulder with his foot. “Off,” he says. “Need to unbend.”

            Dean pulls out of Sam and back away so Sam can drop his legs down, and Sam sprawls out like that, legs over the edge of the table, satiated and relaxed. Dean nudges Sam’s hip. “Hey, up and at ‘em,” he says, smiling slightly. “Can’t sleep here.”

            “Mm,” Sam says. “Why not?”

            “’Cause I don’t think Kevin’ll be too happy with it when he gets home. You wanna scar the kid for life?”

            Sam grunts and pushes himself up and off the table. “Go to bed,” Dean suggests. “I’ll get a washcloth.” Sam nods and heads over to their room, not even remembering to pick up his clothes. Dean hopes he doesn’t run into Cas on the way. He smiles and gathers both their clothes. Giving Sam orgasms that make him blank out on basic tasks is one of his favorite things.

            He dumps their clothes in the hamper in the bathroom and brings a washcloth to their room to find Sam asleep, still on top of the blankets. Dean cleans him up as gently as possible. Sam opens his eyes, and grins at Dean hazily. “That was pretty good,” he says, voice slurred.

            Dean chuckles. “That blew your fucking mind,” he corrects. “You still tired?”

            Sam nods and raises an arm. “Come lay with me?”

            Dean holds up the washcloth. “Lemme put this away and then, yeah, I’ll come lay with you.”

            Dean dumps it in the hamper and hurries back to Sam, who is asleep again by the time Dean gets back.

            Dean pulls on the blankets until he can get Sam under them, then crawls in next to Sam and pulls Sam into his side, resting his hand over Sam’s heart and his head against Sam’s shoulder. In the dark room, listening to Sam’s steady breathing, body still lax from orgasm, Dean finds himself drifting off to sleep too.

 

            According to the clock, they only sleep for about an hour. Dean turns in closer to Sam, peppering kisses against his naked chest, resting his lips for a moment against Sam’s tattoo. Everyone always looks at their matching tattoos, thinks it’s something they got because of their relationship or something. Which Dean supposes it is, in a way, but it’s not very romantic to have tattoos to help ensure they don’t get possessed and kill each other. It’d be kind of nice to get another one, one that’s just for them, just for Sam and Dean, and isn’t for hunting. Hunters aren’t supposed to get tattoos, are supposed to be careful of what every body marking means, but maybe Sam can find something. There has to be something that won’t be dangerous that they’ll both like.

            “Wakey, wakey,” Dean murmurs to Sam, stroking a hand up and down his side. “Need to get up before the kid gets home.”

            Sam throws an arm across his face. “The kid is old enough to feed himself and he’s old enough to accept the idea that we have sex. Come back to sleep.”

            Dean chuckles and keeps insistently stroking the sensitive spot just under Sam’s ribs. “Promised I’d cook tonight,” he says. “You good for burgers?”

            Sam makes an affirming noise. “I’ll make a salad.”

            “Good. Gotta get up to make it,” Dean says.

            Sam grunts and swings himself out of bed, and Dean follows suit, the two of them bumping hips as they dig through the closet, pulling out clean jeans and t-shirts. Dean looks at Sam out of the corner of his eye once he’s dressed, and, while he might very much appreciate the scholarly look, Dean has to admit he’s a sucker for the skin-tight t-shirt.

            Sam hasn’t had a problem with meat in and of itself in a while, but he still sometimes reacts badly if he smells it cooking. Dean remembers hell, remembers the scent of flesh burning from the bone, and he thinks maybe Sam does too, remembers almost two hundred years of it. Dean remembers burning flesh from bone. Sam remembers his own flesh burning away.

            Dean has managed to put some distance between himself and hell. For the most part, Sam has too. They each have their little things that set off the memories, and they each look out for each other. Which is why Dean presses hamburger into patties while Sam makes his salad and only starts cooking it after Sam has finished and gone back to the library.

            By the time Kevin gets home, pushing open the big front door and clunking down the stairs, the burgers are done and Sam has set the table. Dean brings out the salad and the burgers, Sam brings out a round of beers for everyone and goes to fetch Cas.

            Cas shows up, for once without his computer, and the four of them sit down to eat. They have anything from eating completely on their own to dinners for twelve in the bunker. The four of them are sometimes joined by any combination of Garth, Charlie, and Krissy and her friends.

            Dean likes those nights, when they have a full table, elbows bumping and stories being shouted across the table. Him and Sam have made it clear that the bunker can be a safe haven for those around their table who need it, and they occasionally get laid-up hunters crashing in a spare bed. It’s like an extended family.

            Of course, it’s an extended family where everyone has a gun in their belt and knows how to use the silverware to commit murder and occasionally slips other members holy water _just in case_ , but that’s okay. Dean has never been good at being in any other type of family.

            Kevin talks about his class, something about politics that Dean isn’t really that into. Sam is, though, and they debate back and fourth for a while. Fridays, Kevin takes a literature class and sometimes he gets Dean to join him and Sam in talking about the books.

            Sam was the one who spilled to Kevin that Dean likes Vonnegut and Orwell and maybe, secretly, stole almost as many books from high schools and libraries as Sam did when he was a kid. And now that Kevin knows, it’s like he thinks he has a free pass to interrogate Dean about these books.

            Sam loves these discussions, loves that he gets to sit and talk about literature for a while with a genius kid. And Dean thinks maybe that Sam—and Kevin, too—like having him there, like hearing what he has to say.

            Cas is quiet at dinner that night, and Dean tries to get him talking about his book, but he seems focused on his burger. Dean can’t blame him. One, he makes damn good burgers, anyone would be distracted by them. Two, if he had to go through every single family issue the Winchesters ever had and then write about it, he’d go crazy. Cas has one absentee dad, hundreds of siblings (half of whom want to kill him), and thousands of years of experience to go through. No wonder he’s morose.

             After dinner, Cas goes back to his room and Kevin says something about homework before disappearing, leaving Sam and Dean alone to clear the table. They work in tandem, and Sam washes while Dean dries. Dishes done, Sam wraps his arms around Dean from behind, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “Wanna come back upstairs?” he asks, voice low.

            Dean raises an eyebrow. “Earlier wasn’t enough? Thought that knocked you out on your ass. Didn’t realize you’d be ready to go again so soon.”

            Sam chuckles. “Always ready,” he says. At the same time, he runs one of his hands down Dean’s body and rubs his dick through his pants, making Dean jump. “But that’s not what I meant,” he says. “I have something for you.”

            “Oh, yeah?” Dean asks. “That’s not a euphemism for your dick, is it?”

            Sam snorts. “No, Dean. I actually have something for you. Consider it, uh, a wedding present.”

            “Think I remember my wedding present,” Dean murmurs. “You fucked me in the ocean, remember?”

            Sam grunts. “Like I wouldn’t’ve done that anyway. This is…this is different, Dean.”

            Dean can’t think of what it could possibly be, doesn’t remember Sam going shopping or getting weird packages or doing any other secretive things recently. But he just shrugs. “Alright, Sammy, show me.”

            So Sam grabs Dean’s hand and leads him to their bedroom, as if afraid Dean is going to get lost or run away, like Dean wouldn’t follow him anywhere, for any reason, just because Sam asked.

            Dean pushes the bedroom door closed behind them with his foot and watch with confusion as Sam digs around in the duffle he keeps packed under the bed. Dean’s brow furrows. As far as he knows, they only keep a couple changes of clothes, some IDs, a knife or two, some salt and lube in their duffles now. It’s not like they live entirely out of those little bags anymore. What the hell does Sam still have in there?

            Sam straightens up, hiding something in his hand behind his back. Dean tries to tilt his head so he can see what it is, but Sam anticipates Dean’s move and sidesteps.

            Sam is nervous, which is the most ridiculous thing, because Dean is going to like anything Sam has to give him. Sam could hand him a sparkly pink Barbie doll and Dean thinks he would cherish it until the end of time just because it’s from Sam, so he has no idea what Sam has to be so nervous about.

            “I, uh, I’m not sure if you’ll actually want this,” Sam admits, voice low. “I’ve had it forever, been saving it…and, I dunno, it feels right now, to give it to you. But if you don’t want it, tell me. S’okay, I’ll take it back.”

            “Sammy,” Dean says, closing the distance between them. “Whatever it is, bet I’m gonna love it.”

            Sam closes his eyes and laughs hollowly. “Don’t make promises,” he says. He huffs and opens his eyes, says, “well, guess we’ll find out. Here, Dean,” he says, and, without further ado, he drops a small bag into Dean’s hand.

            It’s the type of bag that they store goofer dust in, with little draw-strings at the top. Dean pulls the strings loose and spills the contents of the bag into his waiting palm.

            The first thing he notices is the heavy, horned brass that he gave himself a split lip on more than once during a hunt. Then there’s the old, warn leather cord, which he’s replaced five or six times since Sam gave this to him for the first time.

            Sam hasn’t stopped talking. “I kept it,” he says nervously. “I pulled it out of the trash. I know you threw it away, and I know I should’ve respected that, and I’m sorry, I just—it always meant a lot to me, and I always hoped I could give it back some day, but it’s cool if you don’t want it…”

            Dean slips the chord around his neck, the amulet falling back into the place, the familiar weight landing against his chest. “Thanks, Sammy,” he murmurs as he steps forward, wrapping Sam in a hug. “I love it.”

            “Yeah?” Sam asks. “You sure? I mean—if you really don’t want it anymore, then—“

            Dean cuts him off with a kiss, licking into Sam’s mouth, making him moan instead of speak. The amulet presses between them, little horned monster digging into Dean’s chest, and he missed the feeling.

            Dean eventually breaks the kiss but stays pressed against Sam. “I missed it,” he says quietly. “I missed it every fucking day and I wished I never threw it away, because being mad was no reason to do that to it. To us.”

            “I got why you did it,” Sam says quietly.

            “No, you don’t,” Dean says. “I did it because I was being a self-righteous asshole. I was fucking mad. So what? We were all mad. We were all fucked over. I shouldn’t’ve—you gave me this, Sammy. And I never should have thrown that away.”

            “I still get it,” Sam says. “I fucked up. Why would you want it? Really, the fact that you want it now is more than I ever thought I’d get.”

            Dean suddenly remembers Sam’s wedding vows, his promise to be worthy of Dean’s trust, like it’s something he should have to work for, and Dean growls in the back of his throat. “Never, ever think that you don’t mean everything to me,” Dean says. “That my world isn’t gonna revolve around you, even if you screw up. That I won’t forgive you anything. And never forget that I was an asshole for chucking this.”

            Sam is quiet, and Dean thinks that Sam still isn’t getting it. “I love you, Sammy. An’ I never, ever should’ve thrown away the one thing we had that _said_ that, no matter how upset I was.”

            Sam is quiet for another minute before finally saying, “I’m just glad you’re wearing it again.”

            Dean chuckles, glad to break away from the memories of darker times. “Yeah, Sammy, me too.” He leans forward a little more, making Sam take a lot of his weight. Sam simply draws him closer. “What made you decide…why now, Sammy?”

            Dean can feel Sam’s shrug. “I dunno, I guess…we’re married now, and everything seems…good. We’re happy, or at least I hope you are…”

            “’Course I am, baby,” Dean reassures quickly.

            “And I thought, now, maybe you’d take it back,” Sam finishes.

Dean is quiet for a moment, struck by the feeling of the slight weight around his neck, and then asks, “did I really fuck your brains out earlier, or are you ready to go again?”

            Sam laughs. “You ever had an actual serious moment in your entire life?”

            “Serious moments are depressing. Why be depressing when we could be having sex?” Dean asks.

            Sam seems to consider it for a moment. “Fair point.”

            “So, is that a yes?”

            Sam huffs a laugh. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

            Dean grins. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna fuck you senseless.”

            “Oh yeah? Think it’s my turn to fuck you.”

            Dean shrugs. “If that’s what you want. But you just gave me an awesome wedding present. Think it’s my turn to return the favor.” He presses his lips right against Sam’s ear. “Lemme make you feel good, Sammy. Lemme take care of you right now.”

            “Alright, Dean,” Sam says, breathless already.

            Dean grins. “Good,” he says. “Let’s get you naked.” He begins to tug at the button on Sam’s jeans while Sam pulls his t-shirt off over his head. Dean starts on his own clothes while Sam kicks off his jeans. Soon enough, they’re both naked, coming back together in a hard kiss, all teeth and clashing tongues, sharp nips and swallowed moans.

            Then Dean pulls back a bit, deliberately gentles the kiss. Sam whimpers but gets with the program, slows down until it’s a tender exploration of mouths, drawing each other even closer.

            They don’t do this, at least not often. They’re both big guys, big guys who like to fight and wrestle and, yeah, wrestling can easily turn into sex for the two of them. Hell, the first time they’d gotten off together had started as a wrestling match, had started as sixteen year old Sam managing to pin Dean and not letting him up, grinding their cocks together, pressing messy kisses onto Dean’s mouth and jaw until they both came in their pants.

            But every once in a while they take things slow. And, yeah, usually one of them is seriously injured, or has recently died, if they’re going slow, but not always. Sometimes, it’s just nice to take things slow.

            And Dean plans to take his time with Sam tonight.

            He begins to walk Sam backwards, guiding him towards the bed, not breaking their kiss until Sam’s legs hit the bed and he falls back onto it. Dean stands there for a minute, watching Sam sprawled out below him, pupils lust-blown and mouth red and swollen. “God, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “You know how pretty you are?”

            Sam flushes, cheeks and neck reddening, but he doesn’t object. “So fucking pretty, spread out for me,” Dean continues. “Make the prettiest noises, too. Wanna make you squirm and moan and beg tonight, baby,” he says, and Sam whimpers on the bed. Dean grins. “Yeah, that too,” he says. “Just like that.”

            He climbs onto the bed then, crawls over Sam until they are face to face, then lowers his head until they’re kissing again, shifts his weight to his right arm so he can cup Sam’s face with the left, stroking along Sam’s jaw with his thumb.

            Sam brings his arms around Dean, digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulders, his nails leaving little crescent points in Dean’s back that Dean will try his hardest to see in the mirror tomorrow, that Dean will be proud of earning. Sam applies more pressure, trying to get Dean to press against him, but Dean resists.

            He breaks the kiss. “Patience, Sammy,” he murmurs, lips now pressed against Sam’s throat. “Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

            Sam grunts as Dean sucks at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then trails his tongue across Sam’s collarbone so he can bite at the other side. “Like that?” Dean asks, beginning a series of barely-there kisses down Sam’s chest.

            “Asshole,” Sam huffs. “You know I do, now—GOD!” he finishes as Dean licks the head of his cock.

            “Now what?” Dean asks, grinning cheekily.

            “Keep—fuck—keep doing that,” Sam mutters, eyes closed, hands fisting in the sheets.

            “Look at me, Sammy,” Dean commands softly, so Sam opens his eyes, hazel locking with green just as Dean takes Sam’s cock into his mouth.

            “Fuck,” Sam groans, and his eyes fall closed for a second before he opens them again, watching Dean watch him. Dean reaches up blindly and finds Sam’s hand, tangles their fingers together while using his other hand to press into Sam’s hips as he takes Sam deeper into his mouth, relaxing his throat and taking him all the way down.

            Sam is incoherent now, mewling and groaning, hips twitching under Dean’s hand. But his eyes, half-lidded, never leave Dean’s.

            Dean pulls off of Sam and peppers his hips and stomach with light kisses and occasional licks before sitting back on his heels. “Hand me the lube, baby?” he asks, and it takes Sam a minute to process the request, but he eventually digs the lube out from underneath the pillows and passes it to Dean. He has the presence of mind to open his legs, tilting his hips and spreading himself as wide as possible.

            Dean takes the lube and slicks up his hand—his left hand, it’s always his left hand now—and traces a finger around Sam’s rim.

            Sam is flushed red from his face down to his chest, his pupils are blown wide, and his mouth is opened wide, panting slightly. “So beautiful,” Dean says as he pushes a finger into Sam.

            Sam is still loose, the benefit to having sex for the third time in less than twelve hours, so Dean slides a second finger in and begins to brush them against Sam’s prostate, making Sam yell and groan and push back onto Dean’s fingers.

            “Want another, baby?” Dean asks, and Sam nods, words escaping him.

            Dean grins as he slides in the third finger, because making the Stanford-student, almost-lawyer Sam Winchester go speechless is an accomplishment, one Dean will always be proud of, no matter how many times he manages to make it happen.

            Dean slips his little finger in alongside the others, and now Sam is fucking himself on Dean’s fingers, desperately looking for more.

            “There you go, Sammy,” Dean says. “Look at you. Desperate for it. You want more, baby?”

            Sam nods again, gasping, rolling his hips down onto Dean’s fingers. When Dean pulls his fingers out, Sam whimpers, but Dean shushes him and lines himself up.

            He pushes into Sam with one quick thrust, and both of them groan loudly when Dean bottoms out. “Fuck, Sammy, feel so good,” he grunts.

            Sam wraps his legs around Dean’s hips, one foot digging into Dean’s back, and Dean gets the hint and starts moving, long, slow thrusts that have them both moaning.

            “Feel so good, Sammy,” Dean says, “fuck, fucked you three times today, you’re still so tight, so fucking good.”

            Dean leans over Sam and takes both of Sam’s hands in his own, pressing them to the mattress. Sam’s eyes are shut, his mouth opened wide, and Dean knows he’s close.

            “Gonna come for me, Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam is too far gone, can’t even nod in response, but Dean wasn’t expecting anything. “Yeah, you are,” Dean says. “Come on, Sammy.”

            Sam lets out a wordless scream—if Cas and Kevin weren’t aware of what they are doing before, they certainly are now—and comes, covering his stomach.

            Sam’s spasming hole squeezes Dean’s dick, and that on top of watching Sam’s face as he comes makes Dean come, filling Sam while Sam whimpers and twitches beneath him.

            He collapses onto Sam, fingers still entwined, and peppers kisses on Sam’s chest until Sam begins to squirm under him, sensitive now. So Dean pulls out and rolls to the side, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at Sam.

            _“Fuck_ ,” Dean whispers, looking at his blissed-out, glassy eyed brother. “Didn’t even have to touch your dick, Sam, you came just from my cock in your ass. Fucking hell, you know how hot that is?”

            Sam hums a bit, reaches for Dean’s hand again. Dean takes their entwined fingers and raises their hands to his mouth, kissing Sam’s knuckles while Sam comes back down from his high.

            “Think you…think you broke me,” Sam finally says.

            Dean grins. “Yeah, well, a person can only take so many awesome orgasms in one day, so you’re welcome.”

            Sam chuckles softly. “Can we sleep now?”

            “Not yet,” Dean says. “Give me five minutes to get us cleaned up, then we can sleep.”

            “’Kay,” Sam says, eyes drifting drowsily as he looks at Dean.

            Dean pulls his jeans back on and gets another washcloth from the bathroom—they’ll have to do laundry soon, the way they’re going through them—and brings it back to their room. He shuts the light when he gets back, and, after giving his eyes a moment to adjust, walks over to the bed and shucks his jeans, cleaning himself off quick before taking care of Sam.

            Sam stirs when the wet cloth touches his skin. “Can do it,” he slurs.

            “Know you can,” Dean says. “But let me?”

            Sam nods and Dean cleans his stomach and his cock, before spreading Sam’s legs and carefully cleaning his ass, conscious of how sensitive Sam must be by now. When he’s done, he throws the cloth in the corner—they’ll get it in the morning—and pulls the blankets up over Sam, crawling into bed beside him.

            Sam turns into Dean, using his shoulder as a pillow and sliding one leg between Dean’s.

            Then Sam reaches up and takes the amulet in his hand, clutching it the way he hasn’t since he was a kid who wanted the reassurance of his big brother after a nightmare or a near-death experience.

            Dean wraps a hand around Sam’s, both of their hands resting over Dean’s beating heart, the weight of the amulet and both of their hands the most reassuring thing Dean has felt in a long time.

            “Thanks, Sammy,” he whispers, but Sam is already asleep and doesn’t hear him. Dean takes his free hand and runs it through Sam’s hair, twists his neck so he can kiss Sam’s forehead. “Love you,” he says, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.


End file.
